Nothing But the Truth

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gee-gee’s tight dress nearly exploded now. The blood had receded from her face and left it a mottled cream while her greenish eyes glowed like opals. Her expression was animalistic. It seemed to say she would like to crush something beneath those high heels and grind them into it.

“Yes, you do,” said Bob. “And it will be a frame-up for poor old Dan and Clarence, too!” Dickie’s description of what was going to happen recurred to him poignantly. “I tell you it’s a wicked cruel thing to do. I repeat, it’s rotten.”

If he thought he could overwhelm Gee-gee by a display of superior masculine strength and moral force, he was mistaken. Gee-gee wasn’t that kind of a girl. She had some force herself, though whether of the moral kind is another matter.

“‘Wicked!’ ‘Rotten!’ ‘Cheap!’” she repeated slowly, but breathing hard. “Listen to the infant! ‘Rotten!’” She lingered on the word as if it had a familiar sound. “Well, what is life, anyhow?” she flung out suddenly at the six-foot “infant.” “Maybe you think this theater business is like going to Sunday-school – that all we have to do is to hold goody-goody hands and sing those salvation songs! Salvation! Gee!” And Gee-gee folded her arms. She seemed to meditate. “You know what kind of salvation a girl gets down on old Broadway?” she scoffed. “Aren’t the men nice and kind? Don’t they take you by the hand and say: ‘Come on, little girl, I’ll give you a helping hand.’ Oh, yes, they give you a helping hand. But it isn’t ‘up.’ It’s all ‘down.’ And every one wants to see how deep they can make it. Say, Infant, I was born in one of those avenues with letters. People like these” – looking toward the house – “don’t know nothing about that kind of an avenue. It ought to be called a rotten alley. That’s where I learned what ‘rotten’ meant. Nice young gentlemen like you who toddled about with nursie in the park can’t tell me.”

Bob tried not to look small; he endeavored to maintain his dignity. He was almost sorry he had got Gee-gee started. The conversation was leading into unexpected channels. “Why, I toddled about in rottenness,” went on Gee-gee. “Gutters were my playground.” Dreamily. She seemed to be forgetting her resentment in these childhood recollections. “Sometimes I slept in cellar doorways, with the rotten cabbages all around. But they and all the rest of the spoiled things seemed to agree with me. I’ve thrived on rottenness, Infant!” Bob winced. “It’s all that some girls get. Men!” And Gee-gee laughed. Here was a topic she could dilate on. Again the opal eyes gleamed tigerishly. “I’ve got a lot of cause to love ’em. Oh, ain’t they particular about their reputations!” Gee-gee’s chuckle was fiendish. “Poor, precious little dears! Be careful and don’t get a teeny speck of smudge on their snowy white wings! My! look out! don’t splash ’em! Or, if you do, rub it off quick so the people in church won’t see it. But when it comes to us” – Gee-gee showed her teeth. “I learned when I was in the gutter that I had to fight. Sometimes I had to fight with dogs for a crust. Sometimes with boys who were worse still. Later, with men who were worst of all. And,” said Gee-gee, again tossing her auburn mane, “I’m still fighting, Infant!”

“Which means,” said Bob slowly, overlooking these repeated insults to his dignity, “you aren’t here just to exhibit those histrionic talents you talked about?”

Gee-gee laughed. She was feeling better-natured now that she had relieved herself by speaking of some of those “wrongs” she and her sex had undoubtedly to endure. There were times when Gee-gee just had to moralize; it was born in her to do so. And she liked particularly to grill the men, and after the grilling – usually to the receptive and sympathetic Gid-up – she particularly liked, also, to go out and angle for one. And after he had taken the hook – the deeper the better – Gee-gee dearly loved the piscatorial sport that came later, of watching the rushes, the wild turnings, the frenzied leaps.

She even began to eye the infant now with sleepy green eyes. But no hook for him! He wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t even smell of a bait. Gee-gee felt this, having quite an instinct in such matters. Perhaps experience, too, had helped make her a good fisherwoman. So she didn’t even bother making any casts for Bob. But she answered him sweetly enough, having now recovered her poise and being more sure of her ground:

“It doesn’t mean anything of the sort. Our act has been praised in a number of the newspapers, I would have you understand.”

“All right,” said Bob, as strenuously as he was capable of speaking. “I only wanted you to know that between you and me it will be – fight!”

This was sheer bluff, but he thought it might deter Gee-gee a little. It might curb just a bit that lurid imagination of hers.

Gee-gee got up now, laughing musically. Also, she showed once more her white teeth. Then she stretched somewhat robust arms.

“Fight with you?” she scoffed. “Why, you can’t fight, Infant! You haven’t grown up yet.”

Bob had the grace to blush and Gee-gee, about to depart, noticed it. He looked fresh and big and nice to her at that moment, so nice, indeed, that suddenly she did throw out a bait – one of her most brilliant smiles, supplemented by a speaking, sleepy glance. But Bob didn’t see the bait. He was like a fish in a pool too deep for her line. Gee-gee shrugged; then she walked away. Snip! That imitation gardener was now among the vines, right underneath where Bob was sitting.

Gee-gee’s little act was better than Bob expected it would be. She sang a French song with no more vulgarity than would mask as piquancy and the men applauded loudly. Gee-gee was a success. Gid-up put hers “over,” too; then together they did a few new dances not ungracefully. Mrs. Dan’s face was rather a study. She was an extremist on the sex question and would take the woman’s side against the man every time. Theoretically, she would invite injured innocence right into camp. She reversed that old humbug saying, “The woman did tempt me;” according to her philosophy, man, being naturally not so good as a woman, was entitled to shoulder the bulk of the blame. But when she looked at Gee-gee she may have had her doubts.

She may even have regretted being instrumental in bringing her here at all. And it is not unlikely that Mrs. Clarence may have entertained a few secret regrets also, and doubts as to the application of a broad-minded big way of looking at certain things pertaining to her own sex, when she beheld her of the saucy turned-up nose and brazen freckle. Certain it is, both Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence looked more serious and thoughtful than jubilant. They didn’t applaud; they just seemed to, bringing their hands together without making a noise. But both ladies were now committed to the inevitable. Gee-gee and Gid-up, displaying their “histrionic talents,” were but calculated to make Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence the more determined to pursue the matter to the bitter end. Among the guests now was a certain legal light. His presence there at this particular time – when the two G’s adorned the festivities – might be a mere coincidence; on the other hand it might signify much. He had certainly spent a long time that afternoon talking to Gee-gee and Gid-up. Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence came in contact with them only by proxy.

Bob was a deeply pained spectator of the wordless drama that was being enacted. He, alone, besides those directly involved, knew the tragedy lurking behind the mocking face of comedy. That gay music sounded to Bob like a fugue. He could well believe what it was costing Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence to attain their purpose. They weren’t enjoying themselves. It was altogether a miserable business, and almost made Bob forget his own tragedy. A little incident, however, brought the latter once more vividly to mind.

It occurred while Gee-gee, in answer to applause at the conclusion of her dance with Gid-up, was singing another of those risque, French cafe chantant songs. Bob sat next to the temperamental little thing who was behaving with exemplary consistency. She had been comporting herself in strictly comrade-fashion ever since their last talk, not once overdoing the little chum act. She hadn’t asked him for a single kiss or to put his arm about her waist in dark corners. Perhaps she was too anxious on his account for sentimental considerations. She couldn’t understand the way things were going – that is, things pertaining to Bob.

“Why don’t they?” once she whispered to Bob.

He knew what she meant – arrest him? He shook his head. “Dallying,” he answered.

“I could just scratch his eyes out,” she murmured with excess of loyalty.

“Whose?”

“That monocle-man. You know what I did this afternoon?”

“No.” Bob, however, surmised it would be something interesting.

“I went up to that monocle-man and told him every word I had said to him the night before wasn’t so.”

“You did?” Staring at her.

“Yes, I did.” Setting her cherry lips firmly. “I told him I was just trying to fool him and that I would never – never – never testify to such rubbish, if called on to do so.”

“But you’ll have to,” said Bob. “You’ve got to tell the truth.”

“I’d tell whoppers by the bushel to help you,” she confided to him unblushingly. “That’s the kind of a friend I am.”

“But I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t let you,” he murmured in mild consternation. “Great Scott! they’d have you up for perjury.”

“Oh, no, they wouldn’t. I’d do it so cleverly.”

“But the monocle-man would testify, too.”

“Who do you think a jury would rather believe, me or him?” she demanded confidently. “Especially if I was all dressed up and looked at them, all the time I was testifying.”

“Well,” said Bob, “I don’t believe you could do it, anyhow. Besides, it would be stretching friendship too far. Though you’re a jolly little pal to offer to!” She hunched a dainty little shoulder against his strong arm.

“I’d go through fire and water for you,” breathed the jolly little pal.

“It’s fine of you to say it,” answered Bob fervently. “I haven’t many friends now, you know. But – but it’s impossible, what you propose. It would only get you into trouble. I’d be a big brute to allow that. It would make me out a fine pal, wouldn’t it? Besides, it wouldn’t do any good. Some one else heard me go into your room and knows all about it. Some one else would fortify what the monocle-man would tell. And her testimony and his would overwhelm yours. And I’d never forgive myself for your being made a victim of your own loyalty.”

“Was that some one else Miss Gerald?” asked the jolly little pal quickly.

“Yes,” said Bob. As he spoke he glanced toward Miss Gerald.

Gee-gee had now started to sing and nearly every one’s head was turned toward the vivacious vocalist. Bob saw Miss Gerald’s proud profile. He saw, too, the hammer-thrower, next to her, as usual. On the other side of the hammer-thrower – the side nearer where Gee-gee stood – was the lady who had given Bob the “cold shoulder” a few nights ago at dinner. The hammer-thrower’s eyes were naturally turned toward that cold shoulder now, and, as naturally, his gaze should have been bent over it, toward the vocal center of attraction for the moment.

But his gaze had stopped at the shoulder, or something on it. Bob noted that look. For a fraction of a minute, or second, it revealed a sudden new odd intensity as it rested on a lovely string of pearls ornamenting the cold shoulder. And at the same instant a wave of light seemed to sweep over Bob. For that fraction of a minute he seemed strangely, amazingly, to have been afforded a swift glimpse into a soul.

The whole thing was psychic. Bob couldn’t have told just how he came to know. But he knew. He was sure now who had taken Mrs. Vanderpool’s brooch. Strangely, too, the hammer-thrower, after that fraction of a second’s relaxation of vigilance over his inner secret self, should have turned and looked straight toward Bob. His look was now heavy, normal. Bob’s was burning.

“You!” his eyes said as plainly as if he had called out the word.

The hammer-thrower’s face did not change in the least; nor did his look. He turned his eyes toward the singer with heavy nonchalance and never had his face appeared more honest and trustworthy.

“Oh, you beauty!” murmured Bob admiringly.

“Do you really think she is?” asked the jolly little pal. She thought Bob meant Gee-gee. “Is that the style you like?”

“Thinking of something else,” said Bob.

“Some one, you mean?” with slight reproach.

“Pals aren’t jealous,” he reminded her. “Besides, it was a man.”

“Oh!” she said wonderingly.

“For life is but a game of hide-and-seek,”